Everything Changes
by EscapeToCity
Summary: Alexandra Luthor, Lex's Mother, Reveals Her Story...


Title: EVERYTHING CHANGES  
  
Author: EscapeToCity  
  
Category: Alternate Universe  
  
Rating: R for language  
  
Summary: Alexandra Lord Luthor....her life, loves, and loss, in her own words....  
  
Spoilers: none I can think of  
  
Disclaimer: NONE of these characters belong to me. I am simply painting a scene for them to play in. Peace, blessings & praise to Warner's, DC, WB & Millar/Gough.  
  
Notes:  
  
This series occurs in an alternate universe, focusing on a character whose influence hopefully helped shape the "present-day" Lex Luthor. This is the story of his mother, Alexandra, a ravishing beauty who lives a life rife with possibility and pain...until her mysterious demise....  
  
...Much is explained as Alex speaks to us from somewhere *other*...  
  
I hope this one isn't too *out there*...I always planned on writing about this completely unknown lady. I just hope these stories are interesting to read.  
  
Feedback always welcome. Please e-mail me, if you like, at EscapeToCity@aol.com  
  
Best regards,  
  
J.B.  
  
**************************************************************************  
  
  
  
Oh...you all are so damned lucky.  
  
To still be there.  
  
There with the birds and the seagrass and the sky.  
  
There with tea and smoke-filled rooms and romantic nights, huddled by the hearth.  
  
There with your hopes.  
  
There with your dreams.  
  
Your love.  
  
I've been there, readers.  
  
Believe me, I lived quite a life on that warm ground you so revere.  
  
I bore one son.  
  
I lost another.  
  
I married once. To a living God turned Demon.  
  
I was a star in my own right.  
  
I gave it all up for my son.  
  
I would've kept on giving anything up. Anything.  
  
Anything for you.  
  
My name is Alexandra Lord Luthor.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
Dear friends,  
  
I will attempt to tell you everything I remember...  
  
  
  
I was born on February 27, 1933.  
  
Born on the day Europe literally began to unravel. My childhood was marked by semi-poverty, humorous insults, and the knowledge that I was meant for something far, far better than the piney cliffs of Bournemouth. My father was a simpleton. My mother a "lady about town." I bear neither one of them ill will. Ill will gets you nowhere, especially on this side of existence. Anyway, that is what they were...simple people, hustlers perhaps. But good hearts.  
  
We always had food. I was always clothed. Hugs and kisses were always bountiful. Along with endless humorous insults...  
  
By my sixteenth year, I had blossomed, flowered....into a rather attractive girl. I had read voraciously as a child. A certain Lady from Brighton came around occasionally to bring education to the unwashed; I was the lucky recipient of many of these rich, leathery volumes; their worlds of wonder and exotic smells opened my eyes to the possibility of escape.  
  
Sometimes she brought easels, inks, colors as well...my eyes huge with wonder...  
  
I was never afraid of anything...everything was a possibility. A change for the better....So...  
  
One day, I simply hugged my parents goodbye and decamped for London.  
  
The City.  
  
Oh, and she was glorious again. The war had ravaged her grace, raped her elegance; but like her cousins Paris & Rome, London had taken on a new, glowing life after her debasement. The Circus buzzed with immigrants and jazz and the theatres lit up the night sky with a thousand neon tubes. Sights and people everywhere. I was drunk with urbane satisfaction, giddy on the vibe of big city living.  
  
I was "discovered" while squatting in a flat with four other new transplants. All girls. All had come to the City searching for the same illustrious dream as I. Of the four, I was the only one without a return rail ticket.  
  
Yet I was the one to become a star.  
  
My given name was Alexandra Pickering. My new agent, Harry Swinlow, thought that was far too petty and plain for such a gorgeous young girl. He gave me a name fit for a *lady*  
  
Classes. Speaking classes. Make-up tips. I had good manners but Harry demanded the best. I was to be the new standard for English beauty and grace. Talent classes. I had to be able to act as well, my dears (this modern era of "model actors" didn't exist then...sure you had 'pretty' fools, but they never got very far...from the casting couches...).  
  
And my speaking and make-up and talent classes paid off. I became one bloody good actress.  
  
I was gorgeous in those heady days...It's not vain to admit that you were once a sight to behold. And I was. Tall, fiery, burning hair-- a shade lighter than blood, pale; but with the hint of sunrise. Deep green eyes, my grandmothers...the Irish influence (They of course had left the Emerald Isle during the famine). The husky voice that sent the men of Regents Park aflutter, wallets opened, at all matinees and final calls.  
  
I gather that today I would be called a whore. A tramp. An opportunist. But I never hurt anyone. I just lived and experienced.  
  
I watch Lex sometimes. He lives with such pain. Lacking the ability to simply experience life. Goddamn you. Sorry.  
  
Sorry.  
  
But damn you, Lionel.  
  
What have you done to him?  
  
I started off on simply comedies. Shakespeare. As You Like Romeo in Midsummer Verona's Shrew. Boring, really. But work.  
  
And there's nothing ever wrong with work. That you enjoy, of course.  
  
I did dozens of clothing ads for Marks & Spencer, the upscale department store chain. I would continue to do these, off and on, for many years.  
  
Swinlow was a charmer and a rather good shag, to be honest. Sure he was married, but I was young and he was rich and connected--  
  
We all do what we must in life to succeed. And thrive.  
  
We used each other, as all us good old girls used to do. It was devastatingly wonderful fun. Jolly fun.  
  
Swinlow wanted to leave his wife for me. Take me to Paris, Cannes, wrap me in minks. Fill me full of vino and whisk me to Beirut or Havana.  
  
I wanted nothing like that. I just wanted to stay on the stage, hone whatever talents I had.  
  
Critics generally liked me, claimed I had a "spark."  
  
The roles got bigger as I entered my twenties. At twenty-five, the Royal Academy invited me to perform one-act pieces for some royals.  
  
It seemed I knew everyone young and fun in the City. I would run the town. Bars. Dancing. That jazz, man...killer...  
  
Lex. My baby. You are so lonely. You never seem to have fun. So many tears, hidden, fall down your pale cheeks. So pale. I pray you are healthy.  
  
I was somebody. Somebody more than a girl from the land of piney cliffs.  
  
I actually was making decent quid. Had a place of my own. I was never a big spender though. The only time I cared to part with money was for good quality art.  
  
The Sun. The Sunday Times. News-Dispatch. Even the Gotham City Star did a special "European" feature based on me once.  
  
That was flattering. To think that anyone in big, bold America was noticing me.  
  
But thanks to that Gotham City Star article, one big, bold American did.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
Just after my twenty-seventh birthday, Harry Swinlow died. A touch of cancer and my mentor, lover, protector, and best friend was gone. I cried for days upon days. In those times, I had many friends in the theatre, and they came by the flat, offering condolences. They helped me get through it.  
  
My mother and father came for the wake. Over the years, I had not been good in keeping up with their lives. My father had aged terribly. Such is the life of a laborer. My mother was still knocking them back with the boys at the pub, but her hair had turned auburn grey...and I winced at the thought of the two of them growing old before my eyes. They were of great help to me, however, when Harry's wife created a scene at the wake, throwing her body upon the box; I was horribly shaken and had to take leave from the macabre scene. Both my mother and father stayed with me for hours at a tiny pub in Knightsbridge, regaling me with tales from the past, helping me to see that life goes on, no matter the pains.  
  
I found a new agent in Eleanor Ross, a dodgy woman of questionable background but impeccable experience. Eleanor quickly had me back on the floor, working to get over my grief. Not long after, she secured me a role in a rather quirky play called "A New Kind of Love." Stupid, silly, irreverent romance set in Capri...two Englishmen on holiday falling for the same Italian girl. I found it great fun, though, and I got along swimmingly with my fellow actors and the director.  
  
We had been invited to an International Stage Festival in the great American city of Metropolis. I had dreamed of this city. I had seen its towers and gardens in postcards for years. Metropolis was America supreme, resplendent in all her post-war glory.  
  
I was so nervous the way over. The ship seemed to take a year to cross the cold Atlantic. Then a train ride inland through the lauded "amber waves of grain." So surreal for a girl from the chalky, oyster-lined coasts of fog.  
  
And then there it was. Rising like a set of crystals from the low plain. The most wonderful sight I'd ever seen. Bigger even than London. Brighter than even the City of Eternal Light.  
  
The train station, the old one, the Central Terminal, was clad entirely in glass. Like a giant diamond. Banners and flags hanging from the iron rafters. Jazz bands and little boys tap dancing. This was alive, this was real. And I was here.  
  
Metropolis.  
  
The smell of coffee. And hot dogs. And that thick, saucy pizza. So unlike what the Italians ate, but just as tantilizing.  
  
We stayed at the Hotel de Luxe on Grand Boulevard. I was surprised at the level of refinement and grandeur Americans had so obviously adopted from Europe, yet made so individually their own. I danced about my suite, smoking esoterics on the patio, smiling and laughing, lapping up gin, at play with this wonderful place. Millions of people to meet.  
  
The festival was to be held at the Palace of Arts, a complex of museums and theatres on Metropolis Green, right in the center of the city. It was like something out of Athens or Rome. Columns and ivy, imported palms and Bernini replica fountains spitting out perfumed sprays...  
  
Oh, damn, I loved this place.  
  
This was Metropolis before crack cocaine. Before LuthorCorp decimated half the town to build high-rises. Long before Club Zero. Before drive-by shootings. This was a city of fantasies. Oh, my dear child. How I wish I could have shown you all that was...  
  
Our performance went off without a hitch. The crowd adored our piece and we relished in a job well done. At the reception following, I was flushed with pride. I walked around the lobby of the Palace of Arts, enraptured by my surroundings, emboldened by my successes, just damn happy with the way things had gone. Part of me wished Harry were here to see this. As I gazed out the terrace windows out into the Green, I felt a large hand on my bare shoulder....  
  
"You were spectacular, Ms. Lord. Metropolis needs more like you."  
  
He was the wildest man I'd ever seen. Long, brownish-reddish-blond hair all over the place. Golden eyes. His skin the color of tanned hide, lying in arid sun. Sensuous. Richly detailed hands, clean fingernails. Smelled like fresh stables and flowering heather...after a hard rain. I was awed by his presence. I had never been near anyone so self-aware, so self-empowering.  
  
I had met, and in three seconds, fallen madly in love with Lionel Lewis Luthor.  
  
I was twenty-seven.  
  
He was twenty-one.  
  
"I'm sorry sir, but gentleman usually do not place their hands on a lady...at least not where I hark from..."  
  
I tried my hardest to be a bitch. The sudden rush he stirred in me was damned scary. I wasn't sure I was ready for it....  
  
"Oh, that's right, you're an English broad...." Smirking. Smug bastard!  
  
Broad!  
  
Oh, that bloody smirk. It always melted my heart (and other parts of me as well).  
  
"Yes, Mr....."  
  
"Luthor....Lionel Luthor..."  
  
""Mr. Luthor, I would very much appreciate it if you would remove your hand and continue on your way..."  
  
His hand was removed...from my back. He proceeded took my trembling hand in his.  
  
That tanned, beautiful skin. So strong. Firm. I saw the future at that moment. I knew it. I knew I would be with him.  
  
"My hand feels better here, Ms. England....you're shaking...am I doing that to you?"  
  
I tried to stop myself from saying the words....  
  
"Yes, sir.....oh, damn...you're making me shake...."  
  
Find yourself, you fool, I thought. Why are you letting some American cowboy get you worked up?  
  
"You must be cold."  
  
"I'm used to the cold, Mr. Luthor."  
  
"Of course, of course. Well, it gets cold here in Metropolis....you might need to find a way to warm up. Wouldn't want to send you back a walking virus."  
  
Don't say it, Alex....  
  
"It would be nice to warm up...this terrace is magnificent but it is chilly up here..."  
  
And then his thick, heavy coat was falling onto my weak arms, my weary shoulders. I heard myself moan and damned myself for it. You whore! I thought. Not really, but still....I don't even know this man....Oh, Harry!  
  
"Let's go get a drink, in the atrium. It's warmer there..."  
  
"Alright, Mr. Luthor...one drink..in the warm atrium..."  
  
"Your name, miss...I didn't catch your name. Just in case you steal my coat..."  
  
Smirk. Smirk. Smirk.  
  
"Alexandra. Alexandra Lord." I proclaimed in my poshest British tongue.  
  
"Well, Alex, let's go get to know one another...."  
  
And we did. And my resistance was gone. Forever. I learned that Lionel Lewis Luthor was the heir to some store empire, an farming company, chemical laboratory, a bank, and a aircraft manufacturing consortium. Huge wealth. Some Scottish heritage, but vague and colorless...Later I believed this had been created to give them a proper lineage...His father, Lowell, had recently purchased, via a backdoor takeover, the Gotham Star newspaper.  
  
"That's where I saw your picture," he told me, "there...I was in Gotham to let some of the employees at the paper go and there you were, there you were..."  
  
Nearly gagging on my gin....  
  
"You mean you came here only to see me? To meet me?"  
  
"Of course. Luthors always get what they want. Always. Remember that. I saw you and I knew that I must have you."  
  
"My dear sir!"  
  
"My fair lady!"  
  
My face was curled into a snarl of horror mixed with fear.  
  
He smiled at me brightly, arrogantly. His teeth so perfect. So perfect....Damn....  
  
And right then the bastard pulled me in. Kissed me. Our mouths merging. For just a fleeting moment I thought to scream or kick or run. But something was just so strong, so powerful...I just let him take me. And take me, he did....  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
For the next eighteen months or so I spent every waking hour with Lionel Luthor. We made love like rabbits, drank like fish, traveled like nomads. I'd never seen someone with so much vitality before. He'd graduated two years early from Andover, likewise from Yale. A brilliant mind. Atlas' body. Only twenty-one! Damned amazing. All my friends in England adored him. He was truly the Cowboy. He hunted big game, like Hemingway. He took me to Montana, to the Luthor Ranch, where I cringed as he chased down ten- point bucks...more romantic and pleasurable were our jaunts to Bermuda and to his father's winter home outside Palm Beach, Florida.  
  
Lionel was so *there*, so adventurous, passionate about everything. He said he wanted to save the world one piece of land at a time. Yes, he hunted, but he ate what he shot. He adored animals and long vistas and sunrises spent by open fires in fields full of prairie dogs. He had begun buying property to the west of Metropolis, near a tiny farming town...Smallville...where he planned to create America's largest wildlife preserve.  
  
Oh, I loved the look about him, sweaty and happy, dazed after a long run or hunt, coming into the bedroom, eyes focused on me. As if I were the prey. Our lovemaking at that point went on for hours. I was always satisfied. Having only had a few lovers prior to Lionel, I felt terribly at a disadvantage; but he was gentle in those days. Loving.  
  
In those days, he was my hero.  
  
Lex, baby, if you hear me....you're my hero now.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
We were married in Metropolis. May 1, 1961. The American media went crazy over the entire affair. We were the "other" Camelot. Lionel's father was one of the wealthiest men in the country. I was a playgirl from the impoverished shoreline of Great Britain.  
  
It was your classic "Rags to Riches" story, or that's the way they liked to sell it. From the start, my career, my success on the London stage was ignored. Everything became about Lionel and his glamour girl wife.  
  
Many were not happy, however, that I was substantially older than he. His father for one. I remember a chat I had with Lowell, at the Cathedral of Metropolis, just before I walked down the aisle...  
  
"You signed the agreement, my dear? You realize without it, you'll never walk down that carpet..."  
  
The bastard sneered at me. The whole whirlwind nature of our romance had given him a heart attack. He was a terrible man. In those days, he ruled both Metropolis and Gotham City with a iron fist. He ran the political machines. He stuffed the boxes, used and abused the minorities, owned the mob. Hell, he owned everything. His only competition was the up and coming Wayne family of Gotham City, who seemed far more altruistic and caring for the community than he....  
  
He had a pug nose and horrid breath. A drinker. Drugs as well....He and his underage girls would party long into the nights....Lionel's mother had died about a decade earlier. A broken heart, Lionel would once tell me. In her pictures she always looked vague, detached....I hoped to never see that look in my husband...Nor in myself...  
  
...."yes, Mr. Luthor, I signed the damn papers...."  
  
"Young lady, there's no need to talk like that. Just realize that this is for your own good. And of course, for the greater good of my Lionel."  
  
"You don't give a damn about Lionel. You try to control him. Tell him what to think. You hate the fact that he's his own man. A good man. My man, Lowell...Mine!"  
  
"Keep your voice down, you English slut!"  
  
For a moment I thought I would be pummeled by those greasy hands....but....  
  
"I don't know why he wants you. But he does. And these papers ensure you can't take a dime from him if you ever leave. So I really don't give a good goddamn what happens now. Except you better not interfere with family business. And you'd damn well better have a son. Soon. You're not fresh, that's for sure. You're almost a hag. You'd better get to work. You dry out on him, you're back eating fish and chips in some Bournemouth flat..."  
  
  
  
  
  
Dry out. What a line to say to your future daughter-in-law.  
  
  
  
That conversation would stay with me the rest of my life.  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
The first thirteen years were indeed wonderful. Lionel and I continued to travel. He never showed interest in having children. His father was furious about this. But he could do nothing but sit and watch as we loved each other. Lionel was so good to me. Together, we galavanted about the planet, watching him hunt while I painted and picked flowers.  
  
In hindsight I see that his father was just laying in wait...  
  
I began to sell some of my paintings. We would return to the states for shows.  
  
Los Angeles. Santa Fe. Carmel. Wonderful western places of romance. They had a special affinity for my creations, it seemed.  
  
They told me I had talent. I was bowled over. I simply painted what I saw. Trees and birds and beauty. I painted many portraits of Lionel as well. Lots of nudes. Those were fun. He loved my paintings. They bonded us closer together.  
  
How I wish those bonds could have held...  
  
Just after our tenth anniversary, we returned to America to set up some residences. I had started dreaming in pink and blue, so this was just fine in my eyes.We decided on a large apartment in Metropolis, a home in Smallville on Lex's ever-growing preserve tract, and the house at Manalapan in Florida.  
  
The apartment in Metropolis was to be opulently appointed. Lionel wanted a showplace. His father, still running LuthorIndustries, told us we must have a place to entertain. I wanted something simple, something artistic...I begged Lionel to allow one of my artist friends to design the apartment. But for the first time, he told me, in no certain words....  
  
"Hell no."  
  
I was taken aback for sure. We rarely fought, and we had always been able to compromise.  
  
Learn to compromise, Alexander. Do not travel your father's road.  
  
"My father is getting up there, Alex. We have to respect his wishes. I can't have some avant garde design that might cause him embarassment. Please, understand. I will hire Tesmacher's to do the entire place. That's my final word."  
  
"It's alright, Lionel. You're right. Your father is getting old. The Metropolis apartment should have a certain look to it. I just thought...." He cut me off...  
  
"You're always thinking, my fair lady. And I love that. But, my dear, as he ages and I have to take more responsibility on at LuthorIndustries, you may have to relent more often..."  
  
"More responsibilities, Lionel?"  
  
"Yes. He might step down at the end of the 1972 fiscal year. LuthorIndustries needs a young leader, someone with fire. Vision. It's been drifting now for years. The board thinks..."  
  
"Since when did you care what the board thinks? Since when did you even talk to board members, Lionel?"  
  
"Since we were in Mozambique."  
  
"That was nine months ago!"  
  
I was baffled. Lionel had never kept things from me prior to this.  
  
"Father had another episode while were were doing the reef thing....the board got in contact...we've been speaking occasionally since then...trying to formulate a plan to jump-start revenues and growth at the company."  
  
Gives me a smirky, matter-of-fact look. For the first time I almost feel like I could hit him.  
  
"Lionel...I...I don't understand...I thought we came back to America to go out to the preserve, build it up...get things going there. Maybe go to California and save land out there. Lie on the beach in Manalapan....I don't know...I thought we came back for our dreams....honey?"  
  
"Our dreams can wait a little while. They have to."  
  
Frozen. Shocked. Like winter in July.  
  
"So we came back so you could run the company. Be bloody straight with me, Lionel!"  
  
"Yes." Plain. Matter-of-factly.  
  
I start crying. He's been lying to me for nine months. I thought maybe we came back to have a baby, maybe....at least start protecting the animals and lands he loves so much.  
  
The apartment was decorated in 1970s tacky-rich chic woods and brass. Construction on the home in Smallville was postponed indefinitely.  
  
Smallville.  
  
That's where the sky fell on you, baby....  
  
Oh, damn...  
  
Why, Lionel, why did you have him out there?  
  
Your hair...oh I know, Lex...I know...  
  
Something else fell from that sky too...can't figure what yet...  
  
I was allowed to re-design and furnish the beach house in Florida. I swept it with salmons and greens...trying to imbue it with vitality, and perhaps, hopefully....maternity.  
  
We held a gala affair at Christmas 1972 in the Metropolis apartment. Lionel's father had officially stepped down September 30th. Lionel was, at thirty-five, one of the most powerful men on the globe. People I'd never seen before flocked to him; his father pushed back into a corner throne, like the aged monarch watching his son crowned King.  
  
I was wallpaper in this new room. People asked only how I felt about Lionel's new position. His clout. His stand on political issues.  
  
All about Lionel. All night. I nearly fell asleep from the tediousness of it all.  
  
Luckily, I saw Perry White....I had invited him....he worked for the competition...Lionel was always yelling about him lately....but he seemed a good man....he actually wanted my opinion on the rising tide of activism, especially in women's rights issues, in the city....  
  
"Well...both Lionel and I both support the women's movement. As a foreigner in this country, I knwo how it feels, in rare circumstances, to have people judge your background. And it's ridiculous for an entire gender...women, in this case...to not make equal pay and not receive the same levels of respect as their male counterparts...We both feel, Perry, that this movement will serve to enlighten and enrich the entire country..."  
  
Perry White smiled warmly at me.  
  
"Thanks for the comments, Mrs. Luthor. The readers of the Planet always want to know where you and Mr. Luthor stand on important issues. As pillars of the community and such...."  
  
"Of course, Perry...I'm so glad you could come this evening. I was afraid you wouldn't."  
  
"Oh, I'm not gonna let the fact that your husband owns the Star intimidate me, Mrs. Luthor. I just report the news. Fair, honest, and simple for the average man and woman."  
  
They laugh as Lionel enters the conversation.  
  
"I see the honest reporter is here. Perry, when will you understand that sometimes the little man can't handle the truth?"  
  
"There's no such thing as a little man, Mr. Luthor. Every man deserves honest news. Good news."  
  
I try to stop this from where it's going...  
  
"Perry has to run now, darling. Don't you, Perry?"  
  
"Yes...so nice to see you both....By the way, Alexandra, your paintings at the Promenade are amazing..." Takes my hand, for just a second....I feel something....Makes a quick exit...  
  
Perry White. Wow. Damn me. I wonder what life would be like with him...  
  
I scuttle the thought...  
  
I turn to Lionel, furious.  
  
"You sound like goddamn Hitler when you say things like that. Of course everyone deserves the truth. What the hell were you saying?"  
  
"You fool. Spouting off about equal rights. You're going to hurt LuthorIndustries with that kind of talk. You need to watch your mouth. You're no Gloria fucking Steinem. You're just a low-rent actress who's married to the hottest ticket in town."  
  
My mouth falls open. Hot tears building in my eyes. I cannot believe how he has hurt me with words. I run away from him, his smirk imprinted in my brain.  
  
What is happening to him?  
  
When did he change?  
  
Could it really have happened and I didn't notice?  
  
Was I a fool?  
  
Could I stay?  
  
**************************************************************  
  
That night in bed, I try to understand where all the anger, the hateful words came from...  
  
"Lionel...darling...please talk to me."  
  
"You talk too much. My father is right. I just realized it, finally, tonight."  
  
"I just say what's on my mind, my dear. Is that wrong?"  
  
"Of course not. But you have to put the company's interests first."  
  
"When did the company take over our lives?"  
  
"When I was handed the keys to it. Alex, I love you, please, this isn't about us. This is about the fact that my father built LuthorIndustries into the conglomerate it is. Piece by piece. I spent most of my life so far just spending his money. Never being serious. Playing. Never helping him. Now, he's old, sick even...I'm his only heir...I've got to grow up and take my place as head of all this. Please....bear with this...it doesn't have change the way we deal with each other."  
  
"Are you sure, Lionel? Power changes people. Some in miraculous ways, others in horrific ones. Don't change, honey...please....don't. I don't think I could survive it."  
  
"I'll always be Lionel Luthor, Alex. You can rely on that."  
  
Somehow, that answer wasn't the comfort I needed.  
  
But the sex afterwards was passionate and thrashing...  
  
Soon after the holidays, I found myself with child.  
  
I was thrilled.  
  
Lionel was as well.  
  
My mother flew in from the U.K.  
  
We went together to Tesmacher's, Shreck's, all the big stores to pick out baby clothes...pink and blue....  
  
Jane Tesmacher, C.E.O. of her namesake store, even had her staff throw me an impromptu "Baby Coming Soon!" Celebration....  
  
My mum hated all the glitz of America. But she took it in stride and smiled for my benefit.  
  
All she wanted to do was find a good pub. Decent fish market.  
  
"I never thought of you as the mommy type, girlie."  
  
"Neither did I, mum...but it's coming. And Lionel is so bloody happy."  
  
"Sure wish your Dad could've made the jump."  
  
"Yeah. Me too, mum."  
  
My father had liver disease, brought upon by the drink. He would be dead one month later.  
  
I grieved for him. He was a hard-living, terrific chap.  
  
  
  
Still, I was happy in the knowledge that a new life was coming.  
  
I'm sure Dad would've been happy, too...  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
But things change, always....  
  
*******************************************************************  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
In my fifth month, on a clear day, I lost our child. I had been talking applesauce recipes on the phone with Alfred Pennyworth, valet to the Wayne family and fellow Brit, when my stomach began to roll and I was felled by burning cramps. I screamed in horror as I dropped the phone.  
  
I passed out, begging, I remember, as darkness overcame me, for God to save my baby...  
  
  
  
God was on holiday, obviously.  
  
  
  
I woke up at Metropolis Central Hospital, throbbing with pain, tears dried on my face. Empty. I knew the heir was gone. I screamed so loudly they had to sedate me.  
  
Sedatives for hours upon hours.  
  
Blue.  
  
Pink.  
  
Empty.  
  
Golly goddamn bloody empty.  
  
Awaking. Lionel.  
  
His face tear-stained. He looked old for the first time I could remember. Blood stains on the Christian Dior suit we had bought on the Place Vendome.  
  
"What...w-w...." I can't get it out...  
  
"What was it....please....Lionel....tell me....please?"  
  
Tears uncontrollable....pain so harsh.  
  
"A boy."  
  
Frozen eyes.  
  
He hates me  
  
Lionel glares...murderously, accusingly. As if I did something wrong.  
  
The look pierced my heart. I had wanted this baby as much, if not more than he.  
  
"You killed our son. You bitch."  
  
I began to moan. And moan. No, no no...Lionel baby...no...I loved him...you both...why? Why would you say that to me....  
  
"My father warned me you were too old."  
  
"My father warned me you were wrong for me."  
  
"Now you've killed our son."  
  
I moan and plead and beg.....he hears nothing. I am sedated again, case closed.  
  
When our son, who I named Lionel II, died that April day, my marriage began to die as well...  
  
***********************************************************************  
  
We didn't speak for the next year. I returned to England to be with my mother. She was in pain, at losing my Dad. I was empty, lacking my son.  
  
Lionel began the first of dozens of affairs. Hollywood starlets, political groupies. News anchors. Weather Girls. And of course, secretaries.  
  
I didn't even care. When word of his liasons began leaking to me abroad, I was numb. All I could think about was babies. My little defenseless son...  
  
The doctor emphatically told Lionel and myself that our child had a horribly undeveloped respiratory system. His lungs just didn't work. That this might be a genetic situation. I didn't know of anyone in my family's history with lung problems. Lionel wouldn't even discuss flaws in his bloodline.  
  
"Any children you might successfully have in the future will likely be pre- disposed to respiratory ailments...please remember that..."  
  
I had horrible nightmares of my baby gasping for air in my belly.  
  
Crying "Mummy, Mummy...please give me some air!"  
  
And I being too busy, talking to Alfred, to hear his cries...  
  
My mum took me to the pub daily, trying to ply me with happy ale spirits to purge the demon spirits overwhelming me.  
  
But I couldn't drink.  
  
I could barely breathe. Little Lionel. My baby.  
  
I tried to get my mum to slow down at the pub herself.  
  
After all, too much spirits are what spirited Dad away!  
  
"The pub is me church, girlie."  
  
And that was the truth. And I knew it was where she found solace.  
  
The Waynes and Alfred sent over a magnificent spray of orchids, collected from all over the world. I hoped Alfred didn't feel bad. He was a wonderful chap, one of the few friends I had left since Lionel had taken over LuthorIndustries.  
  
*********************************************************************  
  
Time passed. Our marriage lasted. A divorce would look "bad for business."  
  
I continued to stay abroad most of the time; if in America, I lived at Manalapan.  
  
Sometimes, I missed Metropolis. The city, its wonders, my old friends....my life...I certainly missed the stage and I missed London too...  
  
But mostly I missed hope.  
  
In Florida I did a few local plays, in Fort Lauderdale, in Naples, once in Miami. Just little things.  
  
I put on a little weight, grew my hair out.  
  
I continued to paint. Babies on the beach. City skylines. A couple advertisements for Jordan Marsh.  
  
I became somewhat active in politics. Worthwhile causes, kept my contributions anonymous as to not rock the boat...  
  
I realize some of you will say I sold out, gave up. Maybe I did. After losing Little Lionel I lost much of my *fight*  
  
Lionel would fly me up to Metropolis for corporate events, holiday shindigs.  
  
He kept me fully funded for clothes, art, the best food....  
  
We had to keep up appearances.  
  
We didn't sleep together for nearly five years.  
  
Sounds crazy. But when you only see each other thirty days out of a year it's easy.  
  
LuthorIndustries became LuthorCorporation in June 1978; going public for the first time. The stock was instantly the hottest on both the Gotham and Metropolis Stock Exchanges. The company had doubled in size since my husband took the reins and it now, literally, had global reach.  
  
LuthorCorp. was the only American company to double its profits during the deep recession of the Ford-Carter presidencies.  
  
The company's stronghold on Metropolis culture was even stronger than it had been in his father's time...Lionel decided pretty much who won elections; he placated the minority groups with political spin (and drug shipments); he began a massive urban renewal program that destroyed much of "bohemian" Metropolis...everything behind the Civic Centre and Palace of Arts was razed to create the City Center project.  
  
City Center: The City of the Future.  
  
Twenty-five skyscrapers, ten hotels, and a four-hundred store mall. I was sickened by all of this. Lionel had become the megalomaniac mirror ball image of his bastard father.  
  
His father's time ran out, though, just after groundbreaking for the first fifty-story tower at City Center.  
  
Whilst boffing one of his underage fools, Lowell just gave out.  
  
I know it's wrong to say, especially where I *think* I am now....but...  
  
I was glad the bloody bastard was gone.  
  
Lionel was crushed.  
  
I had been in Metropolis to help my old friend, Jane Tesmacher, think up some advertising ideas for her floundering department store chain. News of the bastard's death had been on television all day...  
  
Lionel phoned while I was trying to convince Jane not to sell out to LuthorCorp (they wanted to tear down her historic store for City Center).  
  
"Alex....baby....it's me...."  
  
Tear-tinged voice...God...I wish I didn't care anymore Lionel...but of course I do...  
  
"Yes. Lionel, it's me. I heard about your father on the telly. I am sorry. You know we had our difficulties but I know you're hurting."  
  
"Please, Alex, meet me at the apartment. I just need to talk."  
  
"You haven't needed to talk in years, Lionel. Is there a cocktail hour I should dress for? Or a funeral? Just tell me what to wear."  
  
I know I'm being cold. But it's hard to remember what warm felt like.  
  
"No parties, Alex....just you and I...talking things...life, memories...please" His voice cracks....  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
Don't do it, you bloody fool.  
  
"I'll be there in twenty, Lionel."  
  
  
  
Following a look of disapproval from Jane, I hailed a cab and rushed over to 399 Grand, home to our tacky-chic apartments, once home to two happy hearts....  
  
And for this night, home to two happy hearts again...  
  
Yep...Lionel got mercy sex.  
  
I felt sorry for him. He felt sorry for himself. It had been a damned long drought for me, and Lionel was still my cowboy.  
  
That wildness was still potent.  
  
I was forty-five and feeling frisky. I was liberated. I was seeing colors....  
  
Dear friends....that night created something so wonderful. So beautiful. The only perfect creation I ever saw.  
  
My God, she's too old to have a baby!  
  
It's a miracle, girlie. A bloody miracle baby!  
  
Mum was right.  
  
He is a miracle.  
  
Conceived that very night.  
  
My baby.  
  
You. The love of my life.  
  
My son, Alexander Luthor.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
End of "EVERYTHING CHANGES"  
  
  
  
Alexandra's Story will continue.... 


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